


whatever happened to "privacy" on a tour bus?

by Vulpix



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 21:29:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5349158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulpix/pseuds/Vulpix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete's a good best friend. He does everything required for Patrick. Messes shit up, makes fun of the stupid shit, and most importantly, hordes fanfiction that fans try to give him under his own bunk.</p>
<p>(or Pete's a slut for Peterick Fanfiction.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	whatever happened to "privacy" on a tour bus?

**Author's Note:**

> this is what me trying a 12:30 am writers block cure looks like.

Pete was a good friend. He felt like Patrick didn’t appreciate that enough. Yes, he fucked up the coffee order, but he was actually getting coffee. Or yes, he had the habit of crawling into his bunk late at night and whining until Patrick grumbled, made room, and maybe even sung to him. And yeah, there was the _one time_ that Pete forgot to mention that his body lotion had a slight bronzer in it (“to keep that tan glowing,” he claimed) and Patrick ended up looking like he fit in better on the Jersey Shore than in Fall Out Boy, but mistakes happened.

If there was one thing Pete was good at, it was the fanfiction.

Occasionally, during meet and greets or press events, some crazy fan would be waving around a thick packet that Pete would quickly intercept. If it was a letter, Pete would sneak into Patrick’s pile of “to read”. More often than not, it was a jumble of words and situations from his or Patrick’s point of view that never actually fucking happened.

Not that Pete was… bitter or anything.

Regardless, he knew Patrick hated the whole “peterick” bandwagon. It started out for him as a funny joke that escalated into him checking his email and finding a 20 page epic of him fucking Pete in various positions and ways. Pete figured this was why Patrick never checked his email anymore.

The thing was, Pete didn’t know what to do with this stuff. He’d skim it (or read over it a few times) and then stare at it in confusion. He couldn’t throw it out on the tour bus, because then Patrick would think Pete threw out a letter which was a big no-no, then stare in confusion at phrases such as, “fuck, patrick, your mouth”. So Pete tucked them under his bunk’s mattress, and then take them all out at the end of tour.

He’d get home and promptly throw every single paper out. Except a few, because some of the fans were actually really great writers. It wasn’t his fault that they inspired lyrics. It was literature. Just with a lot of him and his best friend fucking, which he could deal with.

When it happened, Pete had left the bus for a bit to work out with Andy. Andy usually went too hard at the gym, so Pete usually watched in awe as Andy worked his ass off. In the midst of his studies of him in his natural habitat, his phone buzzed. He ignored it. Again. And again. Finally, he pulled it out.

_Patrick, 1:44 PM: Pete? Are you there?_

_Patrick, 1:46 PM: Peter Lewis, fucking answer me, dickhead._

_Patrick, 1:47 PM: Please?!_

_Patrick, 1:50 PM: We’re fucking talking when you get back._

Pete blinked a few times, looking up at Andy. He felt a little uneased, and shot what was supposed to be a grin at Andy. It came out as a bit more of a grimace. He raised his eyebrows in a way that screamed, “What did you do now?”

“I’ll uh, see you later, Hurley. Patrick needs to talk music or something.”

“Or something.” The skepticism rolled off of Andy’s voice in waves. Pete momentarily wondered how the fuck Andy could talk while working out.

“Bye!” He said simply, nearly rushing to the bus. He hardly got his gym clothes off and his regular clothes back on as he pushed into the back lounge, confusion covering his face.

Patrick was sat cross legged on the ground, a few scattered packets surrounding him. He looked up at Pete, and his cheeks were a dark red. Fuck.

“H-Hi Patrick-“ he started, but was quickly cut off.

“Y’know, the last time you were in my bunk, you stole my comforter. And I figured while you were at the gym, I’d take it back. And I was digging them up because you’re a weirdo and tuck your fucking blankets, when I found a bunch of paperwork under your bed. And I felt bad because I thought I found your legal paperwork or something, but then I noticed they sort of looked like fan letters. So I pulled a few out. Started reading.”

Pete was going incredibly pale.

Suddenly, Patrick was reading it fucking aloud. _“Patrick watched Pete, his hands drifting up and down his chest with a dirty smirk. “Have you ever done this before?” he asked the vocalist, whose wide blue eyes stared in wonder. Patrick nodded. “Well, have you done this in a van with your hot bassist?” Patrick shook his head. Pete simply grinned then, leaning down and wrapping his lips around his aching erec-“_

Pete snapped “Okay! I fucking get it! I have Peterick fucking fanfiction under my bed, but I didn’t like, print that shit out or something!”

Patrick suddenly looked perplexed.

“You know assholes tweet you constantly. People bring it, Patrick. People try to shove it in your face and I try to find them all and I can’t throw it out because you said you thought it was letters. I throw them out at the end of tour.” Pete smiled smugly, waiting for the wind to leave Patrick’s sails.

“What about the stuff in your house?”

Pete froze again, looking quite similar to a deer trapped in the headlights of an oncoming “fucked” tracker trailer. “What?” He asked, as if he could have heard Patrick wrong.

“Last time I came over, I found a bunch of dirty shit. You and I. What’s up, Pete?”

His mouth was dry, and he stared at Patrick without any idea how to answer this sort of thing.

“Pete. Look at me.” Pete’s eyes snapped to Patrick, still mortified. He didn’t know what to say.

Patrick inhaled, then exhaled slowly. Pete quickly matched his breathing, realizing he was about to go full anxiety on Patrick’s ass. Maybe he wasn’t that good of a friend.

“Are you serious about this or is this a weird fetish of you getting off to your best friend and you fucking without him knowing?” Patrick said, watching Pete’s face closely.

Somehow, his sarcasm filter was still working, and he snorted. “Right. That’s why I’ve been saying I wanted an in with you for the past however long.”

He watched the cogs in Patrick’s brain turning, which was pretty fucking confusing. He was waiting to be thrown out of the room, the bus, the fucking band, but Patrick was just… thinking. Hard.

“C’mere,” He said, rather suddenly and quite shortly. It startled Pete, but he immediately plopped down beside Patrick with confusion still evident in his eyes.

“Swear to me, right now, if we try messing around or like… more stuff, you won’t compare my dick to a lightsaber like some of these fucking fanfictions.”

Pete started grinning, and tried his best Darth Vader impression.

“You underestimate the power of the darkside.”

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me on tumblr, @ asoulpunk


End file.
